


Major Arcana

by suneye



Series: the legends are lies [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn Malec, basically a season 1 rewrite, i also went ahead and took out all the incest. you're welcome.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suneye/pseuds/suneye
Summary: When Clary's world turns upside down and her mother goes missing, she is forced to navigate a strange new life where nothing - and no one - is what she thought. Luckily, she has help: a friend with a secret double life, a golden-eyed man she vaguely remembers, and Luke, the only constant in her life. Together, the four of them must team up with friends and foes alike to save the Shadow World.(Or: AU where Dot and Luke find Clary after the events of 1x01 and the majority of season 1 focuses on them and Magnus.)





	1. Something Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> This was a random "what if" idea I had months and months ago so I started writing down the concept and accidentally turned it into a rewrite of the whole first season... so that's fun! I also went and changed things as I felt like it, so most of this is "this is what I think could happen" and the rest is "I just thought this would be neat". Hopefully you think it's neat too, even though this chapter is a little all-over-the-place because it really just serves to set up the bigger picture (not the best way to write, but hey, I'm not getting paid for this, so I can get away with it).
> 
> Specific warnings/possible triggers in end notes (with mild spoilers).
> 
> Also, brief overview of events up until our starting point because I don't expect anyone to remember the pilot episode:  
> Clary has just turned eighteen and is celebrating with Maureen and Simon. She bumps into Jace (who is out demon hunting with his siblings) outside of Pandemonium. Once she realizes no one else can see him, she goes into the club to investigate. There, she sees the Lightwoods kill a bunch of demons and accidentally stabs one herself. A couple Circle members recognize her there so when she gets home and tries to tell her mom what’s going on, Dot runs in and tells them there are Circle members outside, so Jocelyn gives Clary a necklace, tells her she can only trust Luke and pushes her through a portal. At the police station, Clary overhears Luke telling some Circle members that he only cares about the Mortal Cup and not Clary and Jocelyn. She doesn’t realize he’s lying to protect them so she runs home in the rain crying.
> 
> And that's where we pick up. Let's see how this goes! Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a random "what if" idea I had months and months ago so I started writing down the concept and accidentally turned it into a rewrite of the whole first season... so that's fun! I also went and changed things as I felt like it, so most of this is "this is what I think could happen" and the rest is "I just thought this would be neat". Hopefully you think it's neat too, even though this chapter is a little all-over-the-place because it really just serves to set up the bigger picture (not the best way to write, but hey, I'm not getting paid for this, so I can get away with it).
> 
> Specific warnings/possible triggers in end notes (with mild spoilers).

It had begun raining at some point between when Clary had left the police station and when she’d arrived home. But a little water in her hair and the threat of slipping on the concrete with every other step was the least of her worries.

She didn’t really have the time to compartmentalize her worries.

She stumbled through the gate into the yard and up the stairs to the front door, tripping over her feet twice, and threw open the door, screaming for her mom, sounding as scared and helpless and pathetic as she felt.

sounding as scared and helpless and pathetic as she felt.

The room she stepped into had the same size and structure as the one she walked into every day, but apart from Dot’s desk by the wall, it was almost unrecognizable. Broken glass littered the floor. Antiques had been thrown carelessly around, paintings torn from their frames and dropped to the ground. Whoever had been there had clearly been looking for something and didn’t care what got damaged in the process of finding it.

Clary briefly thought that her mother would be furious at the mess.

That’s when the tears came.

“Clary?”

The distant voice might as well have come from heaven. Clary shakily stepped back out onto the porch, clutching the railing like a lifeline as she searched for the source of the sound. A woman was standing at the gate, soaked in rainwater and shaking, eyes wide and concerned. Clary almost sobbed with relief.

“Clary!” Dot cried again, limping as quickly as her body allowed her. Clary pushed off the railing and sped down the stairs towards her, stumbling her steps until she practically collapsed into the other woman’s arms, tears running free. “Oh, god!” Dot gasped, hugging her tightly. “I was so scared something had happened to you. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She pulled out of the hug to look Clary over, checking her for injuries. Clary gripped her shoulder tight. “Dot, I-I don’t know what’s going on here,” she said in between sobs. “Nothing is making sense! There was a door in the wall and that guy turned to dust and mom- oh my god, why are you bleeding?”

Dot looked down at her blood-soaked hands and the bright red stain on the side of her dress, watching for a moment as the rain washed some of the drops of blood away.

“I’m fine,” she said, though she sounded weak. “I fell. Clary,” and she looked back up suddenly and cupped Clary’s face in her hands, “I need you to listen to me - something very bad is happening. I need to get you somewhere safe.”

“But my mom-”

A dark look crossed over Dot’s face, but it was gone quickly. “She’s fine, they can’t hurt her. But they can hurt  _ you _ , which is why we need to  _ go _ , alright? I promise I’ll explain everything on the way to the police station.”

She grabbed Clary’s hand and began to walk, but Clary pulled them to a halt.

“No!” she said frantically. “We can’t go there. Luke, he’s…” A lump rose in her throat at the memory of Luke - her friend and confidant and the only man she had ever considered a father - saying he never cared about Clary or Jocelyn. Talking about her as if she meant nothing to him.

“What happened to Luke?”

Dot’s question pulled Clary out of the gut-wrenching memory. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Dot suddenly holding a finger up to her lips. Dot’s eyes travelled up the side of the building and fixated in one window. She frowned. “Clary…” she said slowly, “do you remember my friend Elliot?”

Clary swallowed hard, feeling her heart rate pick up at the way Dot was acting. “Yeah?”

“Good,” Dot went on just as suspiciously quietly. “I want you to think about Eliot’s shop now, okay? And whatever you do, do  _ not  _ let go of my hand. Do you understand?”

Clary silently nodded, trying to follow the strange request. It was certainly not the strangest thing she had heard today.

Then Dot raised her hand and the air began to glow, and Clary couldn’t help but scream.

In the darkness behind her, something made a growling noise, and a window shattered. Dot gripped her hand tighter and dragged her into the shimmering air. The last thing Clary heard before that now-familiar sensation of being pulled into something indescribable and finding herself in a completely different place a second later overtook her was fast-approaching footsteps, and a human yell.

*

“Behind you!”

Jace turned at the sound of his sister’s voice, just in time to see the demon reach him. He barely had enough time to dodge its claws, so distracted by the screams and the shimmering portal that he’d let his walls down. The demon prepared to strike again, and Jace reached for his blade. But before he could get to it, the demon turned to dust before his eyes, and one of Alec’s arrows, now soaked in ichor, fell to the ground at his feet.

Isabelle was at his side a second later, giving him an unamused look. Jace shrugged.

“I got distracted,” he said.

“By what, exactly?”

“Portal,” Jace said matter-of-factly, gesturing at the empty air where it had been less than a minute ago. “And I’m pretty sure I saw that kid from Pandemonium again.” He turned to the building. “I think she lives here. Should we take a look?”

“Hang on,” Alec began to approach them from where he’d been silently keeping an eye on them and their surroundings. “You followed this mundane all the way here and now you wanna break into her house?”

Jace pointed at the broken glass on the ground, the demon remains on his shoes, and the scorch marks on the grass where the portal had disappeared. “Probable cause,” he said, and began walking without a backwards glance.

Alec and Izzy looked at each other, and, with a shrug, followed.

Izzy whistled once they stepped inside to see the wreckage that had once probably been a nice little shop. “I think our mystery mundie’s in trouble,” she half-sang, heels crunching on broken wood and glass as she made her way to the stairs.

“Does anyone else smell smoke?” Alec asked. Izzy and Jace stilled for a moment, smelling the air. Then the three of them began to climb upstairs.

They were inside what must have once been a cozy apartment. Now most of its furniture was either scorched or ransacked. Or both. Alec poked at an overturned bar stool with the tip of his bow while Jace and Izzy made their way up the second set of stairs.

“We should report this,” Alec said. “Now.”

“In a minute!” Izzy said from upstairs where she was carefully peeking through the remains of a bedroom. She picked a scorched sketchbook off the desk that threatened to crumble at any second and flipped through it.

“That’s interesting…” she muttered.

“What’cha got there?” Jace asked, coming up behind her.

Izzy showed him the only drawings left intact from the fire: golden slitted eyes, like that of a cat’s, and the mark of the angels.

*

Clary blinked and she was standing outside a store she vaguely recognized, Dot leaning panting against the wall beside her.

“Are you okay?” Dot asked.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?!” Clary cried, then slapped a hand over her own mouth. Dot chuckled weakly beside her before leaning over and, with great effort, pushing open the glass door of the shop. Clary, swallowing her shock, helped her cautiously inside.

At the sound of the bell, a man poked his head out from the back room. Clary recognized him immediately, of course - Elliot. They had spoken a few times back when he had worked for Jocelyn, and Clary was pretty sure he was friends with Dot, but what they were doing at his shop now, after everything that had happened, was a mystery to her.

Elliot’s eyes widened at the state Dot was in. “Shit, Dot, you’re bleeding!” he exclaimed, running to her side. “Clary, can you switch the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’?”

With shaking hands, Clary did as she was told. She turned to see Elliot helping Dot into a chair and looking her over.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I fell out of a plate-glass window,” Dot replied. “Also, Jocelyn’s missing. And there are Circle members looking for Clary.”

Elliot blinked. “Well, it sure is a good thing that you bringing her here doesn’t put a target on our backs or anything…” he said sarcastically.

“Excuse me?” Clary cleared her throat, walking up to them, trying to breathe through the panic. “What the hell is going on here? What’s a Circle member? And why are there…doors in thin air?!”

Elliot looked at Dot, who nodded.

“Well, first things first,” Elliot said, and his hands hovered over the cut on Dot’s shoulder, “magic is real.”

Clary could only stare in shock as his palm began to glow, just as Dot’s had earlier in the loft, and gentle blue tendrils of light - of  _ magic  _ \- danced their way over the wound, and Dot sighed in relief.

For the second time that night, strange images flashed through Clary’s mind: glowing eyes, blue sparks, someone reaching into her head, tearing through her mind and pulling her thoughts out one by one.

Trust. Comfort. Fear. Confusion.

Biscuits and crayons.

Clary blinked. Elliot was still tending to Dot in the dim lights. Eventually, Dot’s breathing settled. “Hey,” she said gently, reaching out for Clary. Clary pulled up another chair and sat beside her, unable to tear her eyes away from Elliot’s magic.

_ Magic _ .

Dot was okay with this. Dot was a part of this. Dot had answers. Dot would fix this, she would get mom back and protect her from Luke and and the insanity and make everything go back to normal.

“You okay?” Dot asked.

Her shaky voice brought Clary back to reality. “I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming,” Clary said quietly, shaking her head. “Well, more like having a nightmare…”

Dot gave her a sad smile and reached up to tuck a wet strand of Clary’s hair behind her ear. “I wish you were, sweetie.”

Clary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Is…” She sighed. Magic did seem like the most plausible explanation for everything that had happened, but her head still hurt when she tried to address it as fact. “Is my mom a…wizard, too?”

Dot laughed. The sound was a small comfort. “Warlock,” she said, “and no.”

“Then what- who  _ is  _ she?”

“She would want to be the one to tell you,” Dot said, but it sounded forced.

Clary huffed out her annoyance. “Well,  _ that’s  _ not exactly an option right now.” When Dot still said nothing, Clary took a deep breath and asked her second question. “She said she made someone angry. Who?”

Elliot tensed. He and Dot shared a look.

“Someone who wants us all dead,” Dot said, and at Clary’s stricken expression quickly added, “but he won’t hurt Jocelyn. He wants something from her, and there is no way he’ll get it.”

“Dorothea,” Elliot said darkly. “How did they find her?”

Dot looked away from Clary, swallowing hard, but didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

“Wait, is this my fault?” Clary exclaimed. “Is this because of- because of that guy I…killed?”

Elliot startled. “You  _ killed  _ someone?”

“A demon,” Dot said dismissively. “Clary, don’t worry about any of that right now. Like I told Jocelyn years ago, this was only a matter of time.”

“If only she’d listened to you,” Elliot muttered. “Or to anyone. Ever.”

“Hey!” Clary said, reflexively coming to her mother’s defense. Dot put up a hand to silence them both as Elliot finished up his work on her wounds, and her pale face and the blood on her clothes made Clary bite her lip and resolve to sit impatiently but silently for a few more minutes. Once finished, Elliot disappeared into the backroom for a second and reemerged with a fuzzy blanket and a bottle of water, both of which he handed to Dot. Clary helped wrap the blanket around Dot’s shoulders and kept an arm around her while Elliot made tea. Clary didn’t think that was really an urgent matter, but Dot looked pale and weak, and “tea” was prepared at a snap of Elliot’s fingers, so she stayed silent. For now.

“So…” Elliott said as he handed the women their drinks and leaned against the cash counter to sip his own. “What are you going to do now?”

“I need to get Clary somewhere safe,” Dot said, grabbing Clary’s hand and quickly squeezing it. “I just don’t know where.”

“I don’t need to go somewhere safe,” Clary protested. “I need to find my mom.”

“We’ll find her,” Dot promised. “But first-”

The phone on the counter rang then, making everybody jump. Elliot looked to Dot with concern and she shrugged in response. He took a deep breath and hesitantly picked up the receiver. “H-hello?”

Clary couldn’t hear very well what was being said on the other end of the line, but she caught the mention of her name and with it, a voice she recognized: Luke.

“Where have you been?” Elliot demanded. “Did you know Dot got attacked by Circle members-”

“No!” Clary gasped. “Dot, he can’t find us here.”

Elliot, not hearing her, kept on talking to Luke. “Yes. …Sure, just make sure you’re not being followed.” He hung up. “That was Luke,” he said to Dot. “He’s already on his way here.”

“Dot, we have to go!”

“Clary, what-” Dot started, but Clary had already grabbed her hand and was pulling her to her feet and out of the shop. Dot stopped her right before they reached the door. “Clary, what’s going on?!”

“There’s no time to explain!” Clary yelled. “Dot, please, he doesn’t care about us. If he finds us, he could sell us out to those-”

The door slammed open. Dot instinctively pushed Clary behind her…then relaxed when Luke stumbled in through the doorway, breathless, soaking wet, eyes searching the room frantically. He saw Elliot, then Dot, and finally…

“Clary!” he sighed, starting towards her. “Thank god you’re-”

“Stay away from me!” Clary shrieked, stumbling backwards, reaching behind her for any sort of weapon, anything to protect herself with. Her back hit the wall and she felt something in her back pocket. She whipped out the paperweight - or heirloom or  _ whatever  _ \- her mom had given her earlier that day. It was sharp enough to stab somebody with, so it was good enough, in her opinion.

Besides, she supposed beggars can’t be choosers.

Luke skidded to a stop a few feet away from her. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he held up his hands. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t take another step!” Clary said with newfound bravado - if she had a weapon, she wasn’t  _ entirely  _ helpless. Though, she didn’t think she could ever actually hurt Luke.

“Clary, put that away,” Dot ordered. Not quite angry, but the closest Clary had ever seen her come to it. But Clary didn’t relent.

“Listen to her, kiddo,” Luke urged. “We have bigger problems than whatever it is you’re mad at me about. We can talk about this later, okay?”

Clary raised the thing higher, feeling herself turn red with fury.  _ Bigger problems _ ? What could be a bigger problem than her father figure being a lying traitor?! “I am not going anywhere with you!” she said defiantly. “This is all your fault. You let them take my mom!”

Luke’s hands dropped suddenly, all fight drained out of him. He looked helplessly to Dot, who simply nodded, avoiding his eyes. “I didn’t wanna believe it,” he whispered. “God dammit, Jocelyn.”

At the mention of her mother’s name, Clary faltered, Dot took advantage of her momentary distraction to grab the paperweight out of Clary’s hands, holding it out of her reach despite her protests. Clary wondered if the fighting stance she had seen in action movies would be intimidating enough to throw off an elusive supervillain who had spent eighteen years manipulating the Fray women and only today broken her heart.

“Clary,” Luke said tiredly. “I want to find Jocelyn just as much as you do. I promise you, if I could have stopped them from getting to her, I would have.”

“But you said-” Clary choked back a sob of anger and desperation. “You told those people at the police station to kill us. You said you didn’t care about me.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Luke said softly, taking a step closer to her, then another. “I was trying to protect you.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” One more step and he was right in front of her, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, kiddo.”

Even after everything that had happened, she couldn’t deny that his mere presence made her feel safe. It may have been stupid to take his word for everything, but the way he said his nickname for her made Clary trust him. He was  _ right there _ , a constant in her life for as long as she could remember, begging her not to doubt him.

_ How could she ever doubt him? _

She let herself slump against him and began sobbing into his chest, and he held her like he always had, until she was too tired to cry anymore, and he kept holding her as the exhaustion took over and pulled her into darkness.

*

So, there they were. Three Downworlders on the run from the Circle and the rain, standing in front of glass doors with an unconscious teenage girl between them and no one they could trust, just as the sun was beginning to rise.

After that, there was really only one place to go.

“Oh, no,” was the first thing Magnus said when Dot stepped into his living room soaking wet (neither she nor Elliot had had enough power left to create a portal, and they had to ditch Luke’s car a block away for fear of leading the Circle members right to Magnus), Luke hurrying in behind her with Clary in his arms. “I have had enough to deal with today without bringing…” he gestured passively between the three of them, “whatever  _ this  _ is into it.”

To be fair, he did look preoccupied: multiple books were open in front of him and he looked in the middle of composing a fire message. There was a sheen of sweat visible on his forehead, though his expression and movements remained, as they often did, airy and unimpressed.

“Magnus, please,” Dot said. “Jocelyn’s-”

“Been kidnapped, I know,” Magnus cut in, rolling his eyes. “That much is old news already, Dorothea. What I need to know is whether or not Valentine knows where her special little potion came from. Because once he suspects  _ a  _ warlock, we’re  _ all  _ doomed.” He glanced over at Luke and sighed, waving his hand to conjure a few towels, a blanket, and pillow on the largest couch. The heat in the room also seemed to turn up.

“We don’t know,” Dot replied while Luke wrapped Clary’s wet hair in a towel and draped the blanket over her. “He probably doesn’t know yet. She’s good at keeping secrets.”

“Don’t I know it…” Magnus said irritably. “By the way, do either of you want to explain the unconscious child?”

“She’s had a shock,” Luke said. “A lot went wrong tonight. But she’s gonna be fine, if she can stay here with you while Dot takes care of the loft and I get the rest of this sorted out.”

Magnus looked at them incredulously. “I am not going to kidnap Jocelyn’s daughter!”

“We’re not asking you to  _ kidnap  _ her. More like, babysit.”

“This is insane,” Magnus said. “We already have Valentine trying to kill us, we don’t need to start a feud with the Clave on top of it.”

“The Clave doesn’t even know she exists.”

“Oh?” Magnus chuckled dryly. “Then explain why my people saw her running around Pandemonium with a couple of  _ Shadowhunters  _ last night.”

“What?” Dot breathed, looking between Clary and Luke. Jocelyn’s plan may have failed more spectacularly than any of them had realized.

“Oh, yes,” Magnus went on. “She used a fake ID to get in - though, it’s not like my club has very strict policies when it comes to the apparent age of our patrons, what with all the vampires who got turned at seventeen. Apparently she was having a hell of a time in the backroom with the Lightwood children.”

“What the hell would she be doing with Maryse’s kids?” Luke wondered aloud.

“Don’t know, don’t care, I’m not kidnapping her.”

“ _ Magnus _ ,” Dot said very firmly. “If the Shadowhunters find out who she is, it’s only a matter of time before everyone else in the Shadow World does too. How much danger do you think that puts her in?”

Magnus visibly hesitated before sighing exaggeratedly and waving his fingers again. A door in the back of the apartment swung open to reveal a small bedroom.

“Do not tell  _ anyone  _ else about this,” he said forcefully. “I don’t need people thinking I’m running Magnus’ School for Traumatized Nephilim, and I  _ certainly  _ don’t need Circle members knocking on my door and ruining my evening. And come back as soon as you can, because if the need arises, those Wards are going up, and  _ not  _ coming down. Am I making myself clear?”

Luke and Dot exchanged a look, neither wanting to be the one to remind Magnus that he was neither their father nor their elementary school teacher. Especially not when he had just offered them protection from Valentine.

“Crystal,” Dot said. “We’ll see you at brunch.”

*

Not quite far enough away, in an abandoned hospital, Valentine Morgenstern sat at his estranged wife’s bedside, holding her shackled hand and pondering two questions.

First, where was the Mortal Cup?

Second, would he get his family back, or would he have to kill them, too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings/possible triggers:  
> -multiple references to blood and injuries, as Dot is pretty badly injured for the first half of this chapter, but nothing too graphic  
> -I can't really think of anything else but please let me know if I missed anything!


	2. Uncharted Territory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you leave here, I can’t protect you.”
> 
> “I don’t want your protection. I want to save my mom.”
> 
> (OR: Luke runs some errands, Clary makes some discoveries, and Magnus confesses to some things.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are parts of this chapter that I love and parts that I hate, but I decided to post it even with the parts I hate because I wanna update semi-regularly. And yes, all the chapter are going to be around this length. Let me know what you think of this one!
> 
> (Once again, specific warnings in the end notes.)

By all rights, Clary’s first thought upon waking up in a strange bed in a room she didn’t recognize should have been,  _ what the fuck? _

Then again, she  _ had  _ just woken up from a very disconcerting nightmare. So she settled for startling awake, sitting straight up, and taking in as much air as she could in one gulp. She let her hands drop from the stone on her necklace - she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it - and plopped back down on pillows.

Oh, right - the  _ strange  _ pillows.

She sat bolt upright again, looking around in confusion. She began to remember the events of the night before: the blonde guy outside the club, the glowing knife, the magic, everything that had happened with Luke.

It didn’t feel real. But she could feel how messy her hair had gotten from the rain and she could feel the scrapes on her palms from clutching too hard onto the jagged railing and brick walls in her escape, evidence on her very own body that last night had indeed happened. Besides, she was still wearing the necklace Mom had given her, and she’d most likely been kidnapped, so there was that.

Before she could plan her escape, there was a soft knock on the door. It opened slightly and a man she vaguely recognized stuck his head in through the door and smiled. “Morning!” he said cheerfully. “Come, we’re all having breakfast.”

“Who are you?” Clary demanded, skipping the niceties.

He looked hurt at her question for a moment, but recovered quickly. “A friend of Lucian and Dorothea’s,” he said. “She’s downstairs waiting for you, by the way. Quickly, get dressed, come join us.”

Before she could say anything else, he was gone. Clary looked down and noticed, for the first time, that she was in soft cotton pyjamas she was certain weren’t her own.

Deciding to deal with that after she was fully-dressed, awake, and - hopefully - armed, she climbed out of bed and opened up the walk-in closet across from the bed. A plain blue top and a pair of jeans hung there, exactly her size, with the tags still on and matching ankle boots. She tried not to give her kidnappers too much credit for getting her sense of fashion exactly right.

As she slipped the pants on, she noticed a weight in each of the pockets. She reached in and pulled the items out: her phone, and her mother’s birthday gift to her. The family heirloom Dot had taken from her the night before. So Dot  _ was  _ here. Clary let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Unless one of her (and her mother’s) closest friends turned out to be a liar and kidnapper, she was safe here. At least for now.

Sadly, the same thing couldn’t be said for her mom.

Clary cautiously made her way out of the bedroom and down a hallway lined with expensive-looking paintings which lead to a cozy living room connecting to a dining room. In the dining room, Clary could see a long, antique dining table. Dot sat at the head of it, buttering a piece of toast and laughing at something.

Before Clary knew it, she was running across the rooms, throwing her arms around Dot’s shoulders and burying her face in her hair. She heard Dot drop the fork and hug her back while simultaneously trying to pull away.

“Clary!” she laughed. “Hey, I’m glad you’re awake, but I can’t breathe, kid-”

Clary let go abruptly and stepped back. “Where are we?” she asked. Now that she was sure Dot was here, alive and well, she had a million questions racing through her head.

“A friend’s house,” Dot said reassuringly. “Sit down. Let’s eat.” She pushed out the chair next to her with her foot.

Clary sat.  “Where are my clothes?”

“Hanging out to dry,” Dot placed a slice of toast on the plate in front of her and reached for the teapot in the middle of the table. “I picked these ones out for you in the meantime. You want some tea?”

“Where's Luke?”

“Getting your stuff from your loft. Sugar?”

Clary said nothing. Dot poured her some tea and stirred in the sugar anyway, then nudged the jam and marmalade in her direction, urging her to eat her toast. Clary, although starving, didn’t move a muscle.

“Dot,” she said forcefully. “What happened to my mom?”

Dot flinched. Before she could answer, another voice interrupted them.

“That particular conversation is a bit too heavy for breakfast, wouldn’t you say?”

Clary turned to see the man from earlier walking into the room with an ease and a graceful walk that was almost inhuman.

“Seriously, who the hell are you?” Clary snapped. The man rolled his eyes. He waved one hand and the door shut behind him in a flair of blue sparks. This “friend” was a warlock, too, then. Maybe that was how he and Dot knew each other.

“I’m Magnus. And  _ you  _ are not  _ usually  _ this rude.” He sat across from her next to Dot and waved his fingers again, summoning a muffin to his plate, and one to Clary’s. “Now, Dorothea will have time to answer all your questions, but don’t try to process this on an empty stomach. Dig in. I bought those for you.”

Clary blinked down at the raisin muffin on her plate. “I don’t like raisin muffins,” she said.

Magnus’ jaw dropped.

“I told you so,” Dot muttered.

“She liked them last time!” Magnus hissed back.

“Sorry, do I  _ know  _ you?” Clary snapped, slamming one hand on the table so hard it rattled enough for the muffin to topple sideways. Magnus looked betrayed.

“Magnus is a friend of mine,” Dot said. “And stop shaking the table so much, hon, I’m trying to eat.”

Clary groaned in frustration. “Why do you act like that clears  _ anything _ up?”

Dot put down her fork and sighed. She and Magnus exchanged a long look, as if they were having a conversation with their eyes. After a few long, tense moments, during which Clary felt very much left out and more than a little frustrated, they finally turned back to her with tense smiles.

“There is really no way to simplify this,” Dot said. “So I’m just gonna say it, and I don’t care how mad Jocelyn and Luke will be at me.” She took a deep breath and her smile dropped. “Your mother’s been kidnapped, your father’s a genocidal maniac, and the reason you don’t remember any of this is because there is a block placed on all your memories of the Shadow World.”

Clary said nothing. She waited - and waited, and waited -for Dot to laugh at her own joke or for her mom to shake her out of this weird, prolonged dream, but no such comforts came. Magnus and Dot were staring at her, tensely, expectantly, as if waiting for her to explode.

Clary picked up the muffin and took a bite. It tasted terrible.

*

Not a lot was left unruined from the fire. Part of Luke was relieved to find this out, since now he would have much less to pack and there was less of a chance that someone had already used Clary’s belongings to track her. But another, less reasonable part of him was furious at Jocelyn. He knew it was irrational. He knew what had to be done just as well as she did. But that didn’t make seeing Clary’s  _ home  _ burned to a crisp any easier.

He had managed to pack some of Dot’s psychic things from the store and some of Clary’s mostly-intact belongings so far, and there was plenty of room left in his suitcase and almost nothing left to fill it with. He began to sort through her bookshelf, hoping at least one of her sketchbooks was still usable. She could use a little victory like that after what she’d just been through.

That was when he heard it - a shuffling down the hall. Like the footsteps of someone who didn’t know the one floorboard just outside of Clary’s room was loose, but knew to step lightly enough that someone without wolf abilities wouldn’t hear them.

“Show yourself,” Luke said, turning to face the door, ready to (literally) pounce.

A moment passed. Then, a figure stepped out: a young woman in black clothes with tattoos up and down her bare arms. A Shadowhunter. Trailing a little ways behind her was a much taller man, wearing a scowl where his companion wore a smile. They were unmistakably siblings. And though it had been years - decades, really - since Luke had been a part of that society, he was fairly certain he knew who they were. The girl's flowing black hair, the boy's mistrustful and determined expression, the matching deflect runes on the sides of their necks…

There was no denying it - these were the Lightwoods.

“Can I help you?” Luke asked, trying not to be swayed one way or the other by their identities.

“Maybe,” the girl said lightly, leaning against Clary's bed frame. “Do you happen to know a certain nosy redhead? About this tall,” she raised her hand at a cartoonishly low height, “freaks out easily, allegedly a nephilim?”

Her brother rolled his eyes at the word.

“No,” Luke said curtly. “Now, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. This is private property.”

“This is the  _ ruins  _ of a private property,” the Lightwood boy said.

“Besides,  _ you're  _ here, too,” his sister added. “And we just wanna make sure that poor girl's okay.”

Luke zipped the suitcase up. He hoped this wouldn't turn into a fight - he really wanted to take some of Clary's stuff to her. “What makes you so sure there is a girl?”

“You mean apart from the fact that you just packed clothes, family photos, and coloured markers for her?”

Luke's grip tightened on the strap of the suitcase. “These are my daughter's things,” he said. “If you'll excuse me-”

The girl, barely five-foot-seven with heels on but still exuding confidence, shot up and stood in his path. “Okay,” she said. “I'll level with you. My name is Isabelle,” she offered him her hand, “and this is my brother, Alec.” When Luke didn't shake her hand, she dropped it and rather gracefully went on, “We're staking this place out because our other brother wouldn't shut up about ‘the mundie girl who could use a seraph blade’. And with demons ransacking the place, a mysterious fire, and glamours all over the building... Well, let's just say she's caught our attention.”

Luke swallowed hard. “Your brother-”

“Jace,” Isabelle offered.

Luke blinked. He recognized that named, too. “Jace,” he said. “He followed the girl here?” He'd always known there was the possibility of having to deal with creeps when it came to Clary, but he hadn't expected  _ Shadowhunter  _ creeps who would follow her home and send their siblings to keep an eye out for her.

“Yup. Found a demon in the yard and the whole place thrashed. No sign of her, though.”

That was a good sign. It meant there was still a chance - however slim - that the Clave didn’t know who Clary was yet. And as much as Luke wanted her to know the truth, he didn’t want others to know about her until she’d had time to think things over. After years of being lied to and having her life controlled by him and Jocelyn, she deserved a choice, at least.

“Like I said,” Luke smiled pointedly at the two of them. “I haven't seen any girls around here.”

He began to walk out.

“If you did something to her-” Isabelle began.

“That's enough!” Luke snapped, making Alec's hand tighten on his bow and Isabelle to take one step back in a defensive stance. “If that girl was running away from your creep of a brother, I'm sure she had good reason. If you have any dispute with me, feel free to take it up with my pack leader or the NYPD. Now, if you'll excuse me, my family needs me.” He turned to leave once more, but stopped after only one step. “Oh, and a message for your bosses: Valentine is back. You might want to start taking it seriously, because the Downworld isn’t the only thing that’s in danger.”

Then he was walking away from them as fast as his legs would take him, and he hoped he would never have to run into those two again.

*

With Lucian Graymark gone, Alec turned to give Izzy an unamused look.

“Oh, come on!” she exclaimed. “That was suspicious, wasn’t it? We should check alibis with the local werewolf pack or something. And definitely search this place again.” She made her way over to the charred bookshelf and began sorting through it, though most of the papers crumpled at her touch. “There must be  _ something  _ here that hasn’t turned to ash yet…”

“Iz,” Alec said. Izzy turned to see him holding something. He raised it towards her. It was a small polaroid picture of a familiar red-haired girl and a young boy in glasses making exaggerated kissing faces at the camera. "Bingo," Alec said with a smirk.

“Indeed,” Izzy laughed, taking the photograph from him. “That's her for sure! By the Angel, do you think he was telling the truth about not hurting her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Alec held up a second photograph; this one was slightly larger, in a shattered frame, and showed the man they had just spoken with carrying a young girl of about twelve on his back. “ _ She’s _ the daughter he was talking about.”

“Well, that doesn't make any sense,” Izzy murmured thoughtfully. “Why would a Downworlder be raising a Shadowhunter?”

“I don't think he was. I think he was raising a mundane.”

Izzy looked at the wreckage around them and quirked an eyebrow. “‘Was’ being the operative word…”

*

Magnus pretended to be distracted with his tea as Clary paced back and forth in front of him in the living room, tension radiating off her as she tried desperately to wrap her head around all the information he and Dot were relaying to her. All things considered, Magnus thought she was taking it pretty well. At the very least, she had yet to hurl anything at him in anger, which he took as a good sign.

Clary stopped in the middle of the room and took a deep breath. “You guys are messing with me, right? All of this is insane! My mom’s not part- _ angel _ . Angels don’t exist!”

“Sure they do,” Magnus said. “So do demons. And you do realize your mother being part-angel means  _ you’re  _ part-angel, too, right?”

“Okay, fine,” Clary turned to him. “Let’s say that’s true and my mom just happened to never mention the being-an-ethereal-being thing or the hiding-the-super-important-magic-cup thing because they never came up in conversation. But she doesn’t outright  _ lie  _ to me! My father was a soldier named Jonathan Clark. Not a…”

“Shadowhunter,” Dot prompted.

“Not  _ evil _ ,” Clary finished. “Right?”

“You believe in magic now, don’t you?” Magnus reminded her, and lit tiny blue sparks at his fingertips to prove his point. “How are angels and demons and lying mothers any different?”

“Because!” Clary cried. “If I have to accept the existence of one more mythical being, my brain is literally going to explode!”

Magnus felt a sharp jab of guilt at that - no doubt the magic he had used on her memories had worked to help keep her from seeing these so-called mythical creatures whose reality she was now having to accept.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” Dot said softly. “And I’m sorry for helping to keep it all from you so it’s so much more of a shock now. But if we’re going to find your mother and catch the man who took her, we need leverage. And for that, we your help.”

That - either Dot’s kind voice or the idea of actively doing something to save Jocelyn - seemed to ground Clary. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay,” she said. “How can I help? What can I do?”

“Think,” Dot said. “Jocelyn never told me or Luke where she hid the Mortal Cup, but she always has a backup plan, so she might have told  _ you _ . Or given you a hint or something. Can you remember anything about it?”

“I don't know,” Clary huffed. “I don't think I've ever seen any magical artifacts in my house. Do you have a picture or something?”

Magnus flicked his wrist and a book on Nephilim history fell in Clary’s lap, open to the page with a drawing of the Cup in it. Clary studied it for a long moment before shaking her head.

“I don’t know, I guess I might have drawn something like it at some point, but I’ve never seen the actual thing.”

“Drawing it is a good sign, though, right?” Dot asked, looking up at Magnus. “Maybe she just… _ forgot _ ?”

Magnus shrugged uncomfortably. Clary chose exactly that moment to be perceptive and become suspicious of Dot’s word choice and his body language.

“What’s going on? What aren’t you guys telling me?” she asked, frowning.

Dot looked awkwardly away as Magnus, just as awkwardly, cleared his throat and put his teacup away, standing up so Clary’s tiny, angry frame wouldn’t be looming over him. “It’s…a long story,” he said, nervously wringing his hands together.

She crossed her arms and gave him a look that said,  _ try me _ .

“Your mother paid me to take your memories of the Shadow World,” Magnus explained, thinking it best to just get it out and over with. “Meaning any demons, vampires, seelies, any mention of your true father, any display of her Shadowhunter abilities, anything of the sort. She didn’t want you to be a part of this world. She thought it would protect you, so I obliged.”

It almost felt good to get it all out.

The relief lasted only for a second, of course.

Clary stared at him for a long moment, looking at first shocked, then hurt, then simply furious. It was amazing, Magnus thought, that such a tiny thing could contain so many intense emotions.

“She wouldn’t…” Clary mumbled, tears gathering in her still-narrowed eyes. “And you just… _ did _ it? And  _ you _ -” she turned to Dot - and that seemed to be the breaking point. Next thing Magnus knew, she was storming back into the guest room and slamming the door behind her, barely muffling her sobs on the other side.

*

Clary threw herself on the strange bed and let all the hurt and betrayal escape her in the form of hot tears and racking sobs. For a moment, as her hair flew behind her and she felt the soft pillows under her skin, she thought of herself, perhaps vainly, as a the heroine who had been wronged. Aurora finding out she was betrothed. Cinderella realizing she couldn’t go to the ball. Belle during her first night at the Beast’s castle. Pretty and young, crying her heart out in beautiful 2-dimensional animation because her world has been turned upside down, with no idea what beautiful things fate had in store for her.

Then the fantasy faded, and she was just sad.

Sad because her life was a lie, and even that lie was ripped away from her. Sad because she didn’t know what to do or where to go or who to trust. Sad because she felt helpless and, even worse, useless.

But mostly, sad because she  _ just wanted her mom back _ .

When she had cried her heart out, she lay there against the pillows and stared at the curtains feeling sorry for herself. Her plan was to feel sorry for herself for a while. And then, when she had felt as sorry for herself as she possibly could, she would get up and do something. She just didn’t know what.

It was then that her phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out to see Simon’s contact picture flashing on the screen. She quickly sat up, wiping her tears away and clearing her throat, and answered the call.

“Simon,” she greeted, voice a little hoarse.

“Fray!” came his panicked voice. “Where the hell are you?”

“Um…” she said.

“Find My Friends says you're in Idaho!”

Clary leaped off the bed and threw open the door of the guest room. Dot and Magnus, still seated in the living room with their tea untouched, stood when she entered, looking both confused and apologetic.

“Find My Friends says I’m in  _ Idaho _ !" Clary hissed away from the phone, eyebrows raised in Magnus’ direction.

“Wards throw off the signals,” Magnus whispered back in explanation. “What kind of High Warlock would I be if I was thwarted by an  _ iPhone _ ?”

Clary was not about to try and explain  _ that  _ over the phone. “Simon, I'm fine,” she told him instead. “I'm with…a friend.”

“You have friends in Idaho?” Simon asked. “More importantly, you have friends besides Maureen and I?”

“I'm with Dot,” she said. That seemed to calm him down, at least for now. She quickly promised to call him soon before they hung up. Clary stood there for a moment, before slowly looking up at the warlocks.

“Clary-” Dot started.

“I just wanna get my mom back,” Clary interrupted, calmer now. The crying had somehow helped clear her head, and hearing Simon’s voice had given her strength she didn’t know she had. And she was done feeling sorry for herself, and was eager for the next step:  _ doing something _ . “So, this guy, my father or whoever he is…we can set some kind of trap for him, right? That’s why you guys need the Cup, isn’t it?”

Dot nodded.

“But without it, we have nothing to use against him,” Magnus reminded them.

Clary gave him a challenging look. “We have  _ me _ .”

Before either Magnus or Dot could react to that, Magnus’ cell phone rang loudly on the coffee table. He picked it up, eyes still locked with Clary’s and expression unreadable. She briefly thought he was going to reject the call and yell at her. But when he saw the caller ID, he seemed to change his mind.

“Catarina!” he greeted brightly. But his face soon fell as he listened to whoever was on the other end. “Are- are you certain?” he asked, much more quietly. “At least you’re safe, my dear. Can you gather the others and bring them over here?” As he spoke, he sped towards the door and picked up his coat from the hanger. “Yes, of course it’s going to be safe. I won’t let that bastard any more of you. I’ll see you soon, be careful.” He hung up and looked darkly up at Dot.

“What happened?” she asked.

“The Circle has Corinne,” Magnus replied, looking equal parts angry and heartbroken - with something else lurking underneath. Fear. “Valentine must know it was a warlock who put Jocelyn under that spell, which means we’re probably next.” He shrugged on his coat and stepped into the empty space in the foyer. “I’m going to portal everyone here until I get a safer place set up.  We’re going into hiding.”

Dot looked pale as a ghost . “Elliot-”

“I’ll get him,” Magnus assured her. “And Corinne, if I can. You two stay here, I’ll be back soon.”

Dot nodded, but Clary was not so easily convinced. “Hiding? What do you mean  _ hiding _ ? I’m not going to sit cooped up in here while Shadowhunter-Voldemort has my mother!”

“If you leave here, I can’t protect you,” Magnus said.

“I don’t want your protection. I want to save my mom.”

Dot grabbed her arm then, a dark look in her eyes. “Go,” she said to Magnus before turning back to Clary. “I really don’t think you understand the situation, Clary - the entire Shadow World is going to want to use you to get the Cup once they find out who you are. And if they don’t, Valentine will want you for his own twisted agenda. If you leave, you will die. The one thing that I’m here to make sure of is that you  _ don’t fucking die _ . So,  _ please _ -” Her expression softened slightly and she was holding Clary by the shoulders again, looking into her eyes. “-stay here until Luke and I figure out how to make sure we all make it out of this alive, okay? I promise we’ll find your mom, but you have to be patient.”

Clary wanted to protest. She also wanted to cry again. She did neither. Instead, she pulled out of Dot’s grip and, after briefly noting that Magnus was gone (though she hadn’t heard a door open or close), stormed once again back into the guest room to sit and brood and wait for her opportunity.

*

“Where have you  _ been _ ?” Alaric demanded before Luke had even had a chance to sit down at his desk.

Luke had been on his way back to Magnus’ when he’d remembered he had to check in at work to avoid raising suspicion. He also had to admit he wasn’t sure if he had it in him to face Clary again so soon. Last night had been chaos, and though they hadn’t ended things on a sour note before she’d passed out, he wasn’t eager to find out just how furious she would be at him. He had lied to her. He had helped Jocelyn hide such a huge part of their lives from Clary. She had every right to hate him, but he didn’t think he could handle that.

So here he was, dying to see her and hold her, but putting it off nonetheless.

“Spring cleaning,” he said dismissively in response to Alaric’s question, kicking his suitcase of Clary’s things under his desk.

Alaric didn’t point out that it was still August. “Theo’s been getting suspicious,” he said instead, lowering his voice and leaning close so only Luke could hear. “Whatever you’re keeping from me, think about whether you really wanna keep it from our alpha. Besides…” He glanced nervously around the room. “Something happened in the parking lot last night… There was blood -  _ nephilim  _ blood. With all the rumours about Valentine, I was worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Luke said, thinking back to the Circle members he’d fought the night before. He’d gotten lucky to not have been seen by any mundanes or left any prints. “And they’re not just rumours. There were Circle members there last night.”

“What?” Alaric’s eyes looked about to pop out of his head. “God, Luke, you’re lucky you’re alive!”

Luke motioned for him to keep his voice down. “Don’t mention this to anyone else, alright? I don’t need focus to shift to Clary and Jocelyn or my past with Valentine.”

Alaric nodded solemnly, though he still looked somewhat angry at Luke. “You should keep an eye on that little girl,” he said. “You know no one would hesitate to use her to get what they need. If you don’t stop acting suspicious, this could all blow back on her.”

Luke thought about how it was already all blowing back on Clary, how he’d already almost lost her and how he should really be getting back to her, no matter how scared he was.

“I know,” he said, getting up. “I won’t let it come to that.” As he turned to go, Alaric reached out and grabbed his arm, and Luke turned back, a questioning look on his face.

“You should be careful, too,” Alaric said, much more quietly. “You know how many people the Circle has killed. Don’t you dare be next.”

And with all the chaos of the past few days, the running and the hiding and the explaining and the leaving and the  _ fear _ , Luke had forgotten one very important thing: that though Jocelyn was gone and it was his responsibility to protect Clary, not the other way around, he still had people he could count on - and not just because he had no other choice. Dot was going to be there for Clary, no matter what. Magnus had already done far more than he had to for them, and had yet to ask for anything in return. And Alaric… Alaric was here  _ warning  _ him about the Circle and about their alpha and about protecting Clary when he had no obligation to.

It had been difficult for Luke to trust people since everything with Valentine, but he realized with a jolt that he’d left the closest thing he had to a daughter alone with Magnus and Dot, and was here now, not telling Alaric the whole truth but not lying to him either. Maybe time and distance and Jocelyn and Clary and Simon and Becky and Magnus and Dot and the pack - or at least, Alaric - had made it easier to count on people without expecting at every moment to be stabbed in the back.

All he could do in response to Alaric was nod gratefully and say, “You, too”, and leave.

*

“Wasn’t ‘not getting in trouble’ part of the plan?” Alec muttered under his breath as Jace and Izzy led him through the halls of the Institute to Hodge’s room, the pictures from the ruined loft tucked safely into the pocket of Jace’s jacket.

“Hodge isn’t gonna sell us out,” Jace said, shoving him with a roll of his eyes. “You gotta relax, man.”

“I just don’t think this is a good idea.”

Izzy chuckled softly, shaking her head. “You’re so tightly-wound! You find a reason to complain about everything. Asking Hodge for help is the most logical course of action, since we’re  _ not  _ gonna drop this, and we don’t want mom and dad to find out about our little detour the other night.”

Alec averted his gaze as they passed Raj in the hallway. A safe distance away, he turned a glare on Izzy.

“Say that a little louder, won’t you?”

A few seconds later, they were knocking at Hodge’s door. He opened the door in workout clothes, looking ready to head to the training room. He smiled and at the same time raised his eyebrows at the three of them.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Can we come in?” Jace asked. “It’s…classified information.”

Alec rolled his eyes at his use of the word to sound more official and like they knew what they were doing, but Hodge simply nodded and stepped aside to let them in. Inside, Jace fished the charred photographs out of his pocket and held them out to Hodge.

“We found these in the aftermath of a fire,” Izzy said as Hodge examined them. “We ran into a sighted mundane at Pandemonium and Jace  _ swears  _ he saw a seraph blade light up when she touched it, so we decided to investigate. There were runes and glamours all over the walls and a werewolf was lurking there and honestly it looked like the place had been raided. We figured we were a little out of our depth, so we decided to come to you for help.”

Hodge thought for a moment. “Why haven’t you reported it to your parents?” he asked finally. “Or the Clave.”

The Lightwood siblings exchanged a look.

“The werewolf, Lucian Graymark,” Alec said hesitantly. “He said something…about Valentine…”

Hodge tensed. “What did- what did he say?”

“That he’s back,” Jace said, hugging his arms, barely looking at the rest of them now. “If that’s true…”

“It can’t be,” Hodge said. “You kids should drop this.”

Izzy frowned. “You know we’re not going to.”

Hodge looked pointedly at Alec, as if to encourage him to say something. Alec gestured at his stubborn, annoying, beloved siblings. “Have you  _ met  _ them?” he exclaimed.

Hodge looked torn for a moment. Then, after seeming to give it considerable thought, he took a deep breath to brace himself and nodded.

“I recognize her,” he said. “I’ve never met her, but she looks just like Jocelyn Fairchild-” he grit his teeth as the Circle rune on his neck suddenly grew red, but didn’t let up. “Valentine’s wife. She has to be the girl’s mother.”

“Take it easy,” Izzy warned, reaching out towards him comfortingly.

Hodge simply took in another deep breath, braced himself against the wall, and kept going. “Jocelyn and Lucian were both in the Circle in the early days. Either she’s still alive or he’s raising her daughter or- I don’t know, but you have to find her.”

“We will,” Izzy assured him. “We just don’t know where to start.”

“Where did you say you last saw the girl?”

“Pandemonium,” Jace said. “The High Warlock’s club. Uh, something Bane?”

“Magnus,” Hodge said, straining against the pain. “Magnus Bane. Jocelyn talked about him a lot. He might know something.”

Isabelle’s eyes gleamed as she turned to smile at her brothers. “Only one way to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> specific warning for this chapter (with mild spoilers):  
> -more references to blood, injuries, and death  
> -Hodge's rune and "punishment" make an appearance, which is technically torture, so...  
> -food/drinks mentioned in two scenes


	3. Hell or High Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what are we looking for?”
> 
> “A box. It's little, nothing fancy. I think it’s got some of my dad’s stuff in it.”
> 
> “Your dad? The allegedly evil one?”
> 
> (Or: Everyone is in the wrong place at the wrong time, and pays the price for it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, an update! Sorry for the wait. Hopefully I can go back to more regular updates soon. Anyways, I hope you like this one! (chapter-specific trigger warnings in the end notes)

“This isn’t going to work,” Alec said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You’ve said that a hundred times,” Jace said, also for the hundredth time.

“Because this  _ isn’t going to work _ .”

“Well, Izzy and Hodge and I respectfully disagree.”

“Well, the three of you can respectfully go f-”

Izzy sighed dramatically as she stood up from where she was crouched on the Institute’s floor, a stunning ruby necklace now in her hands. “Are you two done arguing?” she asked, rolling her eyes at her brothers.

“Iz, this is ridiculous,” Alec said. “Not to mention reckless and completely against the rules. How do we even know this Magnus Bane can help us, anyway?”

“He’s one of the most powerful warlocks alive,” Hodge answered in Izzy’s place. “He can track down anybody, and he has a history with the Fairchilds. If anyone can help us get to the bottom of this, it’s him.”

“And if you’re finished being a stick in the mud,” Izzy said, playfully shoving Alec. “We need to get to him before he goes into hiding forever.”

Alec did not even budge at her shove or at her teasing. “And you really think the necklace is going to work?”

Izzy turned the jewel in her hands and smirked. “I’ve been told this item holds sentimental value.”

“Uh-huh…” Alec looked between her and the necklace, dark eyebrows drawn together in disapproval. “What  _ exactly  _ did you and Hodge plan?”

“A very professional, official business meeting,” Izzy said, unconvincingly. “I know people who can send him the invite by noon today.”

“Are we sure he’s gonna meet us on our turf?” Jace asked. “Downworlders aren’t usually eager to show up here.”

Alec gestured to him with an “ah-ha!” look at Izzy. She rolled her eyes at them.

“Trust me. For  _ this _ ?” Izzy held up the necklace. “He will.”

*

The first thing Magnus wanted to do when he got the message was to set it, and the people who had sent it, on fire. But he thought that might be a bit of an overreaction, so instead he sat Dorothea and Elias down in the quietest corner of his living room (which was now filled with nearly the entire warlock population of New York) and explained the situation.

“You’re not going,” Elias said.

“Yeah, no way,” Dot agreed. “I know what that necklace means to you, but it’s too dangerous.”

Magnus considered this for a long moment. Then he said, “I’m going. Keep an eye on my guests.”

Their chorus of disapproval followed him all the way into the kitchen, and so did they, keeping their voices low and their words vague so the others wouldn’t know what the problem was and get antsy.

“Don’t be an idiot!” Elias hissed. “It’s obviously a trap!”

“Even if it’s not, you’ll be putting yourself in danger just by walking out that door.” Dot added.

“I was planning to take a portal there, actually.”

“Magnus, this isn’t a joke.”

Magnus couldn’t argue with her when she looked so scared for him. So instead he gently poked her cheek and turned back to his wine. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he promised. “I need the two of you to keep everyone safe and-” he raised his wine glass, “ _ -happy _ until I get back. The wards will be back up as soon as I’m gone and I’ll be flying under the radar. I promise,  _ nothing  _ is going to go wrong.”

*

With Magnus gone, Dot found herself desperately needing something - or someone - else to focus on. Watching him step into that portal had felt like failing, like not being able to protect him.

As if  _ he  _ needed protecting.

She excused herself to take a fruit platter upstairs to the guest room, where Clary would no doubt still be listening to music too loud and drawing her feelings away, just as she had been when Dot checked on her ten minutes ago, when the last of the warlocks arrived.

But when she got there, there was no music, and when she knocked, no answer came.

With her heart in her throat, Dot threw open the door of the room to find it empty.

She cursed loudly. A split second breach in the wards. That was all it had taken. And now she needed to find Clary again.

*

“God, I was so worried about you!”

Clary said nothing when Simon pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. She just stood there and let the worries of the world melt away for a moment. They always did in Simon’s arms. Though, today, it was a bit more difficult.

“I mean, hey, I love Dot,” Simon was rambling. “But why on earth would she drag you to  _ Idaho  _ of all places? And on such short notice? And your mom wasn’t picking up my calls, so I-”

“Simon,” Clary interrupted. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He stopped his rambling immediately and studied her with so much concern on his face it almost hurt to look at. “What is it?” he asked in a low, reassuring voice.

“Let’s go somewhere private,” she said. “And…you’re gonna need to sit down.”

She was fully prepared for him to laugh or think she was joking or ask her if she was on drugs (that last one he did, once, but quickly shut up about it at the murderous look she gave him), but he was surprisingly understanding.

At least, he became so when she started crying.

“I’ll be honest, Fray,” Simon said after Clary had relayed the whole story to him. They were sitting on the floor of the Lewis family home’s basement now, Clary playing idly with the gift her mother had given her and Simon trying not to bite on the temples of his glasses. “This is a lot. I mean, if it were  _ me  _ telling  _ you  _ all this…would you believe me?”

“I don’t know,” Clary admitted. “But I had to tell you. I don’t know who else I can trust. All I know right now is my mom’s in trouble.” She took a deep breath and turned to him with a serious look in her eyes. “I need to find her, Simon.”

“Okay,” he said.

“I’m scared to go alone,” she said.

“Say no more,” Simon stood up and offered her his hand. “Where do we begin, Holmes?”

*

It took all of Luke’s self-control not to start a scene just outside the precinct.

“What do you mean you  _ lost  _ her?!” he hissed into the phone instead.

“I mean, she’s gone!” Dot, who apparently  _ could  _ afford to yell, responded, distraught. “Magnus portaled a lot of people in, it was chaos. And he designed these wards to keep people  _ out _ , not in. She could’ve just snuck out the window, for all I-”

“ _ Enough _ . I don’t care.” Luke got into his car and slammed the door behind him. “I’m coming over. You start looking. I’ll-”

The hairs at the back of his neck prickled at the scent of another wolf. Wordlessly, he hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror. The alpha’s smirk greeted him from the backseat.

“Theo,” Luke said, his tone dangerously close to  _ impatient _ . “Can I help you?”

“No, Luke,” Theo said sarcastically. “I broke into your car to  _ chat _ .”

Luke turned to face him. “What is it?”

“Who were you on the phone with?”

“My real estate agent. What do you want?”

Theo leaned back, watching him curiously. “Did you kill those Circle members the other night?”

“What Circle-”

“ _ Don’t _ lie to me, Luke.”

The effect was instant - the words fell from Luke’s lips before he even registered them. “I killed them.”

“Why?”

“They were attacking a warlock. They were gonna kill me, too.”

“I buy that,” the alpha locked eyes with him, frowning slightly. “Is that the  _ only  _ reason?”

“Yes,” Luke said.

“And it had nothing to do with the Mortal Cup?”

“These days, it feels like everything has something to do with the Mortal Cup,” Luke quipped. “But no. They just hate Downworlders. You do remember that, right?”

The look Theo gave him was filled with hate, as if he was confirming that the feeling was mutual, and reminding Luke that his own past was not so easily forgotten either. “I remember.”

Luke set his jaw. That can of worms was not one either of them were eager to open at the moment.

“I’ve been hearing rumours all day, you know,” Theo said. “About Valentine, and the Cup, and a long-lost daughter. Her description sounds awfully familiar.” He sat up and leaned forward, closing the space between himself and Luke as Luke tried to keep calm, seeing very plainly where this was going. “Red hair, about 5’5”, in possession of a Mortal Instrument? That ring any bells?” And almost as an afterthought, he stared Luke in the eyes and added, “the  _ truth _ , please.”

Luke knew he should answer honestly. Everything in him screamed for him to answer honestly. Everyone knew an alpha’s command was absolute. Disobeying it would be a betrayal.

But just as Theo didn’t fully trust him due to his Shadowhunter past, Luke didn’t trust Theo, either. The obedience of the pack meant more to the man than the trust and respect of the pack. He felt more like a commander than a leader - a difference Luke had come to recognize more and more the farther away he got from the Shadow World in his daily life.

So he smiled and very calmly said, “If I knew where the Mortal Cup was, I’d have told you already.”

Theo considered for a moment. Clearly, he wasn’t satisfied with the answer, but no one had ever ignored a direct order from him before, so he had no choice but to accept it.

“Fine,” he spat. “But if you hear anything…”

“Of course.”

“And as soon as you’re done with your  _ real estate agent _ , help Maia and Gretel look for this girl. I  _ want  _ the Cup, Luke.”

Luke nodded in understanding. And with that, Theo was gone, slamming the car door loudly behind him.

Luke took a deep breath. He felt relieved, but he could feel time running out. He had to find Clary before the pack did, and he had to find the Cup before the wrong person got their hands on it. Not to mention, he had technically just lied to the alpha.

That last part he didn’t feel particularly bad about. Some things were worth breaking centuries-old honour codes and fighting against your instincts for.

*

The New York Shadowhunter Institute was far from Magnus’ favourite place. The gothic architecture and the uneven lighting had never been his cup of tea, and the self-assured Nephilim with superiority complexes turning their noses up at him weren’t a treat, either.

At least the one that had greeted him at the door - a small, dark-haired woman with a too-familiar name - had been nice so far, as she led him through the long hallway leading to the Head of the Institute’s office. Magnus tried very hard to dislike her, just on the basis of her being a shadowhunter who probably would betray his trust sooner rather than later if Magnus’ own history was anything to go by, but apart from that, she wasn’t giving him any reasons to.

“Right this way,” Isabelle Lightwood said, and opened the door to the office, stepping aside to let Magnus in.

Inside was just as depressing as the rest of the building, but there was a vase in one corner, where a blond young man stood with his arms crossed, so that was something. If nothing else, at least the man sitting behind the desk had Magnus’ attention.

He rose when Magnus entered, serious expression wavering only for a moment. He was easily the tallest person in the room, with dark hair and eyes eyes that were intense and piercing even from this distance. And, well, he was handsome. Shadowhunter or not, he looked how he looked, and Magnus had eyes, didn’t he?

“Mr. Bane,” the dark-haired man greeted in a deep voice. “Thank you for taking the time.”

“Your offer intrigued me,” Magnus said, making himself at home on the comfortable chair on his side of the desk. He was sure the gesture came off as rude, but acting like he owned the place was the only comfort he could offer himself when the whole building seemed to be screaming at him that he didn’t belong and wasn’t wanted there, even if the invite claimed otherwise. “But may I ask what you three are doing playing Head of the Institute in your father’s office?”

Isabelle made a choking sound behind Magnus. Her blond brother winced. Her handsome brother didn’t react.

“Alec Lightwood,” he introduced himself. “I’m the acting Head of the Institute while our parents are otherwise occupied.”

Magnus didn’t really care. He just liked watching Shadowhunters squirm.

“Very well, then,” he said, changing the subject. “ _ Mr. Lightwood _ , I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

The Lightwoods exchanged a look.

“The deal was to make a trade,” Alec said.

“And what do you want in exchange for giving me  _ my own necklace _ ?”

He didn’t even flinch at Magnus’ sharp tone. “Information.”

“About?”

“Jocelyn Fairchild.”

Oh.

So that was what this was about.

That woman’s mistakes were going to haunt Magnus forever, weren’t they?

“What would I know about Jocelyn Fairchild?”

“Any information would be helpful. Her whereabouts, for instance.”

Actually, Magnus would like to know that himself. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. Let’s talk cash. How much do rubies go for these days?”

“But you can find her, can’t you?” The blond jumped in; at the dirty look Magnus threw him he added, “I’m Jace. And warlock tracking is supposed to be super strong, isn’t it? Not to mention how well-connected you are in the Downworld. If she’s in hiding-”

“I know nothing about Jocelyn Fairchild or her whereabouts. Would a month of free Wards work for you? I’ll throw in a few hours in the medical wing to sweeten the pot.”

“Your reluctance to help us suggests you  _ do  _ know something,” Alec said.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “If you’re not willing to make a deal-”

“We think she or someone close to her is in danger,” Isabelle interrupted - and there, finally, was his reason to dislike her. “You know about Valentine, don’t you? That’s why you’ve been gathering warlocks under your protection.”

“I’m surprised  _ you _ know about Valentine. In my experience, your people deal in denial and denial only.”

“We’ve had some new insight recently,” Alec said. “An apartment belonging to a Jocelyn Fray was found arsoned, the tenants - Jocelyn and her eighteen-year-old daughter - missing. A werewolf was sighted on the premises hours later. Do you know anything about that?”

“Do you think I keep close track of Brooklyn real estate?”

“I think you’re deflecting.”

A tense moment passed. Then Alec reached into one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out an iPad. He quickly pulled up a picture on it and slid it across the table. A photograph of a photograph was visible on it, charred at the edges and covered in ash, but still recognizable: Clary and Luke.

Alec seemed to catch Magnus’ split-second reaction and his eyes narrowed. Still, Magnus tried to play it cool, shoving the device away and leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “I’m afraid I don’t know who every werewolf in the city spends their time with. Is the girl a part of the pack?”

“Jace, Isabelle, could you give us a moment?”

The younger Lightwoods looked confused, but didn’t question him, leaving immediately. When the door closed behind them, Magnus quirked an eyebrow at Alec.

“Is this the part where you  _ seduce  _ me into giving you what you want?”

Alec showed the first genuine emotion Magnus had seen from him so far: his eyes widened, briefly, fear flashing through them the same time that his cheeks turned red and his shoulders tensed. Like he was excited and flattered and horrified at the same time.

And now Magnus felt bad about his joke.

“ _ No _ ,” Alec said, adapting his serious, no-nonsense attitude again. “This is the part where you tell me the truth, in confidence, and we reach a compromise.”

Magnus smiled humourlessly. His pity for Nephilim never lasted long. “Spoken like a true shadowhunter. Oh, you’ll make a  _ real  _ Head of the Institute yet!” He placed his hands on the desk and stood, slowly. “Here’s what’s  _ actually  _ going to happen, Mr. Lightwood: I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re not going to stop me. And eventually, probably after you’ve lived your life and died your honourable Shadowhunter death, someone else is going to trade me that necklace for a much more reasonable price. I’m willing to wait. If you’ll excuse me.”

He felt pretty good about that, especially with the offended look Alec gave him. Magnus fixed his jacket and turned to go.

“Wait,” Alec called, only slightly softer, but it was enough to grab Magnus’ attention. “I propose a new deal.”

Magnus turned back to him. “I’m all ears.”

Alec stood as well, brandishing the ruby necklace Magnus had been longing to see for so long and placing it on the desk between them. “I think you’re trying to protect someone,” Alec said. “Probably Jocelyn or the girl. And I know I can’t force you to help us find them. So you can have the necklace. But you have to give me  _ something _ , Magnus. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, but I can’t just hand it to you.”

Magnus thought for a moment, staring at the light reflecting off the jewel. Why not leave the world-saving to the Nephilim? The answer to that was simple, of course: because the Nephilim would always inevitably hurt the Downworld in their quest to “save” them. And Magnus was far too old to pretend he didn’t know better.

“Valentine  _ is _ back,” he said to Alec at last. “There. Now you can pretend you got that information from me rather than an unsanctioned mission. You’re welcome.” He emphasized the sentiment with his biggest, brightest fake smile.

Alec gave him an unamused look. “You know that’s not enough.”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t sound like my problem.”

Alec sighed, then picked up the necklace. Magnus was about to protest, thinking he was going back on their deal, but relaxed when Alec just held it out towards him over the desk. Magnus snatched it away from Alec and stuffed it into his pocket before the shadowhunter could change his mind.

“Rubies it is, then?” Alec said suddenly.

Magnus was about to tell him off when he realized Alec was smiling. Not smirking like he’d just outsmarted the High Warlock of Brooklyn, not frowning like he was unhappy with the terms of their agreement, but  _ smiling _ , like he’d just made a joke and was nervous it wouldn’t land.

Magnus didn’t think Alec Lightwood  _ could _ joke (or smile, for that matter), but this was a welcome surprise. It certainly suited him. His eyes were certainly much prettier when he wasn’t frowning.

“Goodbye, Mr. Lightwood.” Magnus said his name much more softly this time, no longer like it resembled a curse word.

He had just passed Isabelle and Jace on his way out when he was interrupted once more. This time it was by a fire message, which he caught and glanced over quickly.

That was all he needed to do - glance. It was all it took for the blood to freeze in his veins and for him to start running out of the Institute, until he had enough space to open a portal back to his apartment.

Dorothea had been right: he should never have left.

*

Clary was almost surprised at how easily they managed to break into her house.

They took a shortcut through the back garden and, after struggling with the door for nearly ten minutes (another five spent trying to remember whether or not the strange markings had always been on the wall or if they were new), managed to get in through the backdoor.

“Damn, Fray, who torched your loft?”

Clary was  too stunned to speak. Seeing her house dark and turned over and suddenly scary had been one thing. But this…this was something else entirely. The place was almost unrecognizable. The walls were still where she had left them, and she could see the frames of furniture and the remains of her mother’s paintings hung on the walls, but everything about the loft seemed unfamiliar now. Everything was slightly off-kilter.

Autopilot took her to her bedroom. The remains of the pink sheets and broken paintbrushes - and the mental map of the home she had spent her entire life in - told her she was in the right place. This was her room. But, strangely, she felt nothing as she stood there. There was no sense of familiarity. No sense of loss, either, not really. Just a sudden emptiness inside of her. And a sense of cold, cruel resignation. As if the charred floorboards and soot-covered windows were saying to her,  _ nothing will ever be the same again _ .

“Clary?” Simon said softly, his hand on her shoulder, startling her out of her thoughts.

“I’m okay,” she said. “There’s nothing left here.”

She said it in a detached sort of tone. She was trying to make sense of the situation, of why she felt like such a stranger in her own home. She reasoned that it must be because of her mom’s absence. The world wasn’t going to make sense until she was back, safely, with Clary.

Clary led Simon to the master bedroom. It was in a similar state to her own room, but at least here, Clary had an idea of what to look for.

“So, what are we looking for?” Simon asked.

“A box,” Clary said, opening and closing drawer after drawer on her mom’s (now, very brittle) dresser in search of it. “It’s little, nothing fancy. I think it’s got some of my dad’s stuff in it.”

“Your dad?” Simon opened the closet door and began searching there. “The allegedly evil one?”

“Yup. I saw her looking through it and trying not to cry sometimes. I can’t really think of what else would be in it.”

“Maybe souvenirs from other family members?” Simon suggested. “What if this is how we find out what happened to your grandparents?”

“Well, if anything Dot and Magnus told me is true, they probably got killed by demons.” Clary gave up on the dresser with a sigh and took to turning over the bed instead. As if her mom would keep a wooden box under her pillows.

“Hopefully they’re alive so we can enlist their help in finding your mom. By the way, why aren’t Dot and this Magnus guy helping?”

Clary sighed again and threw the pillows back, sitting down on the bed tiredly. “They  _ are _ ,” she said. “Or at least, they  _ think  _ they are. But their priority is clearly this Mortal Cup thing and they keep getting sidetracked. I could not care less about that Cup. My priority is my mom. And so far you and I have done more to find her in the past half an hour than they have in the entire time I’ve been with them.”

Simon came over and sat down beside her. “What about Luke?”

Clary shook her head, feeling equal parts frustrated and guilty. “When I see Luke…” she said through gritted teeth. “…Whenever that may be, I’ll be sure to ask him what his priority is.”

Simon nodded, seeming to understand. She couldn’t tell if he actually did or if he was just pretending to in order to make her feel better. It was an odd feeling - she almost always knew what Simon was thinking. But, she supposed, when you were doubting everything you’ve ever known, your best friend’s ability to lie was bound to join that list, too.

“Maybe she hid the box somewhere else,” Simon suggested. “Maybe the last place anyone would think to look.”

“Like where?”

Simon shrugged. “All I’m saying is we have a whole loft to search - preferably before the infrastructure gives way and we get crushed by the ceiling - so let’s keep searching.”

“Yeah,” Clary said, relieved at having a goal once more to take her mind off of…well, everything. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s keep looking.”

They made their way out together. But before they could even step foot in the hallway, a loud noise from downstairs startled them both. Clary stifled a scream and pushed Simon behind her, slowly coming to the realization that perhaps it had not been the best idea to sneak out unarmed, when the source of the noise at the front door called out to them:

“Clary? Are you there?”

“Luke!” Clary cried, relieved. “We’re upstairs.”

“‘ _ We _ ’?”

“Hi, Luke!” Simon called.

There was silence for a few seconds. Clary figured Luke was sighing. “Hi, Simon,” he said after a moment, and then the sound of his footsteps walking up the stairs and into the hallway were all they heard until he was standing in front of them wearing his badge and a look of fatherly disapproval.

“Do you want to explain to me,” Luke asked slowly, “what the  _ hell  _ you were thinking?”

Clary crossed her arms. “I was  _ thinking  _ that I need to find my mom,” she snapped.

“And you do that by sneaking out?” His voice was rising now, but Clary refused to be intimidated. “By worrying Dot and I and putting yourself in danger?”

“Well, excuse me for not being content with sitting around and waiting for her body to turn up! You literally work in homicide, you should know it’s important we find her as soon as possible!”

She was taken a little aback herself by that. Not by the outburst, but by the very real possibility that her mom was actually never coming back. Luke seemed to feel the same, because his expression softened slightly and he shook his head.

“Clary,” he said. “You know I want to find her more than almost anyone. But  _ you  _ are the most important thing right now. If you’re in danger, Jocelyn’s in danger, and if they get what they want from you, then the entire world is in danger. Do you understand?”

Clary looked away from him. “I’m not leaving without dad’s box.”

“The what?”

“The little box mom keeps of his stuff? The one she never lets me see.”

Luke thought for a moment. Then, realization seemed to dawn on him. “It’s not your dad’s stuff,” he said.

“Then what is it?”

Instead of answering, Luke walked into Jocelyn’s bedroom and kicked aside the rug. He crouched down and felt around until he found what he was looking for - a loose floorboard.

“Holy crap,” Simon muttered to Clary. “Your mom has a  _ secret trapdoor _ ?”

“It’s just a loose floorboard,” Luke said without looking back at him. He lifted it and reached into the space underneath. A second later, he was holding out a small, familiar box to Clary. “There. Can we go now?”

Clary took the box and nodded. She reached to open it, but Luke placed his hand on top of hers.

“Not here,” he said. “Come on, we gotta get back to Magnus’. Simon, I’ll give you a ride.”

The teens nodded and followed him out.

Halfway to the stairs, Luke froze. He gestured for them to stop. Clary opened her mouth to question him when the sound of slow clapping alerted her, too, to the presence of a fourth person in the apartment.

Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

They were cornered.

“Theo,” Luke greeted bitterly.

“Lucian,” the man now stepping out of the shadows said mockingly. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t follow you after earlier?” He looked past Luke, towards Clary, and smiled. “That’s her, I assume?”

Luke stuck out his arm protectively in front of her. “She doesn’t know anything.”

“Oh, I’ll bet,” the man - Theo - laughed a little. “Well, I do have to thank you for finding her for me. Maia was stumped. Unless she was covering for you, that is.”

“She doesn't know anything, either,” Luke said, then, as Theo took a threatening step closer, added, “Theo, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Theo sneered. “ _ You’re _ the one who should be worrying about  _ regret _ .”

Luke didn’t waste any more time: he turned and pushed Clary and Simon into the nearest bedroom and slammed the door shut, throwing his whole body weight against it. Someone, or something, growled on the other side and pounded against the door.

“Open the door, Luke!” Theo demanded.

Luke ignored him. “Clary, do you still have the gift your mom gave you?” he asked urgently.

“Yeah,” she scrambled to fish it out of her pocket and hold it out to him.

“Come here,” he said instead. When she did step close enough, still holding the “heirloom”, he grabbed her wrist and moved the tip of the thing across the lock in a strange pattern.

Clary would have asked what the hell he was doing, if she hadn’t been so stunned by the way the air in front of the object ( _ wand? Was it a fucking wand? Was she a fucking wizard after all? _ ) sizzled, burning the same pattern into the door.

Luke dropped her hand and stepped back. The intruders continued slamming against the door and turning the knob, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Okay, okay,” Simon said, hyperventilating a little. “I buy the magic stuff.”

“You’re surrounded, Luke!” Theo called from the other side of the door. “There’s nowhere you can go. Just give up the girl and maybe I’ll let one of you live.”

Clary raced to the window. Theo was right - there were others out on the street, and even two people in the garden. She frowned. It was a little far away, but she still recognized Alaric standing with a white-haired girl.

“Alaric’s with them?” she asked, intending to sound angry but ending up just sounding hurt and pathetic.

“No!” Luke said defensively. “It’s just- alpha’s orders, it’s complicated.”

“Uh, you guys know what’s  _ really  _ complicated?” Simon cut in. “Our current predicament. You do have a plan, right?”

Luke raised his phone. “Always.”

It took less than thirty seconds for the air to split open and for Dot to step out of the whirling portal. She glared at them all with her hands on her hips, skipping pleasantries and greetings in favour of scolding Clary.

“I have never been so angry at you in my life! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Clary held up the newly-acquired box. “I got us a lead!” she said defensively. She turned to ask Simon to back her up only to see him, flung to the floor with the force of the portal, struggling to put his glasses back on and failing miserably at closing his mouth with the shock of it all. All in all, though, he was handling it pretty well.

Luke helped him up and held onto his arm tightly. “Argue later,” he told Clary and Dot. “Where are we headed?”

“Magnus’,” Dot said. “The wards make an exception for his portals and mine, but we have to be quick.”

With that, she grabbed Clary’s hand and opened another portal.

They stepped through to Magnus’ loft just in time to see the first casualty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings/possible triggers:  
> -references to violence and death, including heavily-implied threats of violence  
> -mentions of food and alcohol  
> -mentions/implications of the clave being horrible


	4. Reap What You Have Sown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Valentine wants you alive. The same can’t be said for the Downworlder or your little mundane friend. Or as I like to call them, ‘collateral damage’.”
> 
> (OR: They never should have left.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PEEP THE (NEW) TAGS AND WARNINGS! 
> 
> as always, chapter-specific warnings are in the end notes, but I do wanna give a warning here too because this chapter in particular got more violent than I anticipated — definitely more violent than the scene in the show, but probably not as bad as like season 3 level violence. just to be safe though I added the "graphic depictions of violence" warning.
> 
> hope you enjoy! and I'll try to be more regular with updates from here on out

Everything happened very quickly after they portalled in. The first thing that happened was that Clary saw someone die in front of them, though she wouldn't realize it for a few moments. All she registered at first was a body falling and a second person, who was responsible for it, turning to them, half-surprised and half-hateful. It was a tall, pale man in a suit, a strange mark peeking out of his collar.

He had a sword.

He lunged at them.

Luke acted on what appeared to be instinct - pushing her and Simon out of the way, sidestepping the attack, grabbing the man by the arm, and wrenching the sword out of his grip. One quick swipe in the right direction and the threat was gone.

There were now two bodies on the floor, and that was when Clary realized what was happening.

It was difficult to comprehend that this place that she had been standing in only hours before, and hating, and wishing to leave, had become the site of a massacre. But that was what had happened. And now they were at the center of it.

“The Circle,” Dot said breathlessly. “The others…” And after a quick nod from Luke, she hurried off, leaving the three of them alone.

They had portalled into what looked like some kind of office. It looked like it had been ransacked. There were scorch marks in the Turkish rug in the middle of the room and the door was broken off its hinges. Luke took advantage of their shocked and speechless state, pressing the handle of the sword he'd taken from the Circle member into Clary's hand and instructing her and Simon to hide under the table until he got back.

Clary shook herself out of her stupor just in time to grab his arm before he was gone. She had a thousand questions and an urge to yell at him about leaving them here, with two dead bodies not ten feet to their right, to go put himself in danger. But ultimately all that came out was a choked "Don't leave me".

Luke squeezed her hand. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said. "I promise. You two just be quiet, stay out of sight, and trust your gut."

And then he was gone.

The next several minutes passed slowly, with Clary's only solace — and biggest source of anxiety — being Simon's occasional nervous ramblings.

“How come I don’t get a sword?” Simon asked now in a low whisper.

“ _Shh_!” Clary hissed. She was barely swallowing down her panic. “I don’t know, I think they only glow when I touch them.” And it was true - the blade was giving off a faint silver shine even now, like the one she had accidentally picked up at Pandemonium.

“Why would you want a sword to _glow_?” Simon asked. “Didn’t Luke tell us to stay hidden?”

“He also told us to be quiet!”

“Touche.”

And even then he didn’t stop talking:

“Hey, so, are those guys really…?”

Clary looked away from him, focused on the dark red spots drying the weapon she was holding. Dot and Magnus had told her that this was what people like her, people like her mother, did: wielded weapons that glowed and stained it with the blood of their enemies. Actually, what was more accurate was what they had told her some of her kind — _Shadowhunters —_ had joined her father in doing: carrying weapons stained with the blood of innocents.

Clary wondered which one of her parents hid curled up under a desk and waited for the fighting to be over. Was that what her mom had done when she had hid Clary and lied to her? Did that come from the angel part inside her, or the human part?

“Yeah,” she told Simon. “They’re dead.”

Simon was finally quiet. But only for a second. “Are we gonna die here, Fray?” he asked. His voice was smaller, barely audible, but not scared.

“No,” Clary said with conviction. Realistically, they probably would. But a more emotional, illogical, _fiercer_ side of her decided in that moment that Simon would walk out of here today without so much as a scratch on him. She gripped the sword tighter. _Simon’s gonna be okay_ , she told herself. _Luke’s gonna be okay. Dot’s gonna be okay. Magnus is gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay._

Someone screamed nearby, the sound piercing and close enough to be heard over the rest of the fighting. Simon clasped Clary’s free hand. Clary wondered if her sword would have made a difference in the fight she’d just overheard. She wondered if Luke was going to keep his promise.

The sound that finally put an end to all her wondering was a child’s voice, frantically calling “ _daddy, get up, please!_ ”

Clary and Simon leaned over to glance out from opposite ends of the table. There were three dead bodies in their line of sight now _—_ and a young girl trying desperately to shake one back to life.

Simon turned back first. “It’s a little girl,” he said. “We have to help her. Her dad’s…he’s not gonna… Clary _—_ ”

“I know,” she whispered. “Okay, we just— I gotta…” She had no idea where to start.

“Together,” Simon said.

Clary nodded. “Together.”

So together they went, with not even the barest bones of a plan. And to their credit, it was going fairly well until they actually made it past the doorway, where the girl was still trying to rouse her father, and were instantly spotted by one of the evil Shadowhunters.

Clary let out an undignified noise of surprise and fear, but neither of them wavered. They ran the rest of the way to the girl, Simon picking her up in one swift move as Clary raised her sword and scowled in what she hoped was a threatening manner. The Shadowhunter, a blonde woman wielding a sword that was almost as big as Clary herself, didn’t seem to think so. She cocked her head to the side as she approached Clary.

“Well, would you look at that," she said with a laugh. “No point in asking your name, I guess. You look just like her.”

She struck Clary’s blade with her own and the force was enough to send Clary’s sword flying. Before Clary could even think about reaching for it, the woman had grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the doorframe. The world went dark for a moment, and Clary felt something warm trickling down her scalp, but she was too busy trying to pull herself free and being glad that she hadn’t been stabbed to be too concerned over it.

“Valentine wants _you_ alive,” the woman said. Then, as if it were a silver lining, her gaze drifted over to Simon and the little girl shaking in his arms. “The same can’t be said for the Downworlder or your little mundane friend. Or as I like to call them, ‘collateral damage’.”

“No _—_!” Clary’s scream was cut short by the woman throwing her to the ground and kicking her in the ribs. Clary wheezed and blinked black spots from her vision in time to see the woman advancing on Simon and the girl. Simon retreated until his back was against the corner and there was nowhere left to go. He had put the girl down and was covering her body with his as best as he could, as if keeping her hidden from the murderess for a brief time would somehow save her life.

Clary realized, with a sudden jolt, that she was about to watch them die.

She had to do something. The sword Luke had given her had landed somewhere in the corner of the room, but it was close enough for her to crawl to and grab. So that’s what she did. Even with broken ribs. Even on a blood-soaked carpet.

It was either luck or adrenaline or god himself intervening that got her back on her feet and to Simon’s attacker in time. Or maybe it was the woman’s own arrogance, her assuredness that she would make this kill, because Simon and the girl were unarmed and Clary was weak and she had backup and they didn’t, so surely she had all the time in the world.

Whatever it was, it led to the woman with a blade in her spine and Clary and Simon and the girl still standing.

Clary pulled the sword out and the woman went down, blood pooling steadily around her. Too much blood. She hadn’t turned to dust and goo like the guy Clary had accidentally killed at Pandemonium.

“Clary?” Simon said shakily, pulling her eyes to him and away from the corpse at her feet. There was blood on his glasses. But he was fine. He was _alive_. Clary wanted to hug him, but they had another priority. They knelt down next to the little girl. She was crying steadily, but, Clary reminded herself, she was _still alive_. Right now that was a win in and of itself.

“Hey, sweetie, are you okay?” Simon asked softly. The poor thing could only nod shakily in response.

“Don’t worry,” Clary said. “We’re not gonna let them hurt you. We’re all gonna hide here, together, until all the fighting is over and we can go home, okay?”

The girl said nothing. As they helped her into the narrow space under the desk, she cast a defeated glance back out at the man lying in his own blood just outside the room. Clary saw something flash through her eyes, an almost unrecognizable look. As if she had just made a very important realization, and it made her both furious and resigned at the same time. Clary wouldn't understand what that meant for a very long time.

*

Magnus was acutely aware of the fact that he was standing in someone’s blood.

He was aware of it because he kept slipping, the soles of his shoes not made for running or fighting or keeping his balance, especially when there was something to slip on. He was aware of it because the smell of it _—_ the metallic scent with the hint of something burning that was unique to warlocks _—_ was impossible to ignore, even for him. He was aware of it because he was caught in a fight with a Circle member less than five feet from the body all that blood he kept slipping on belonged to.

He didn’t know whose body it was, not yet. He hadn’t had a chance to check before he’d been whisked into the action _—_ by means of stopping a blade heading for his throat in mid-air and hurling it back at the Nephilim with his magic. The fire message he had received at the Institute had been from Elias, hastily scrawled on a paper from his apothecary with the last few letters nearly unreadable, probably in mere moments he’d had before the Circle had found him, too. It had warned Magnus of this.

_circle_

_bloodbath_

_come back_

_please_

He never should have left.

Magnus dodged another blow from the Circle member he was currently fighting (the seventh one so far - more and more of them just _kept_ coming) and shot a burst of red magic at him, sending him flying into the coffee table across the room with enough force to break it in half. One last flash of red and the job was finished.

There was no reprieve before another Circle member was upon him. This one he recognized, but only vaguely. He was called Blackwell or something like that, but he wasn’t notable enough for Magnus to remember his first name, or how and why he knew him.

Blackwell deflected Magnus’ first attack easily with his sword. “Your magic’s strong, _warlock_.” He said the word like it was an insult. To him, it probably was. “Much stronger than that horned weakling I killed when I first got here.”

_Elias._

Magnus steeled himself against the realization. He would have time to mourn later. _After_ he’d made this bastard pay.

Blackwell swung his sword at him and Magnus barely dodged. The stinging sensation on his cheek, and the wave of fury that came with it, finally lowered his glamour. He sneered as he felt his real eyes flash, and Blackwell smirked.

“Cat eyes,” Blackwell noted. “Those would go nicely with my collection. Especially with those horns I carved out of _—_ ”

Next thing either of them knew, there was an arrow sticking out of Blackwell’s throat.

Then another.

This time, Magnus felt the arrow as it rushed past his ear, no danger to him, and joined the first in Blackwell’s body. He was dead before he hit the ground. Magnus blasted him against the wall with his magic, too, for good measure.

“Well done,” said a familiar voice behind him.

Magnus had a joke in reply. He was _sure_ he had a joke. But try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to say it. So he just focused on glamouring his eyes before turning to see who had come to his aid.

To his shock, Alec Lightwood was the knight in black leather armour standing in his living room, lowering his bow after the kill. His quiver was almost empty. Magnus wondered where the rest of the arrows lay.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Magnus demanded.

“My job,” Alec said simply.

Magnus gave him an unamused look.

Alec sighed. “You dropped this on your way out,” he said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the necklace Magnus had left  _—_ _left —_  the loft for in the first place.

He stood there patiently while Magnus tried to stop his shaking long enough to take it from him and stuff it in his coat pocket. If he noticed the shaking, he didn’t show it. Magnus tried not to think about what it meant that Alec had gone from demanding something in exchange for the jewel to giving it to him after saving his life. (Later he might correct that to _helping_ save his life _—_ Magnus wasn’t about to give him _all_ the credit.)

“Jace and Izzy already took out the Circle members surrounding the place; they're helping out upstairs now,” Alec said as he made his way past Magnus. He crouched down to tear his arrows out of Blackwell’s body. “Are you okay?” he asked. He sounded casual, uninterested. But Magnus could see the two arrows that had entered the exact same place in the dead man’s throat. _Overkill_. Alec hadn’t just tried to keep him safe. He had used two arrows to _ensure_ it.

“Yes,” Magnus said, because he didn't know Alec well enough to say, _no, I’m feeling dizzy, please hold me_. “You?”

Alec stood and looked him over once more. Instead of answering, he stepped closer to Magnus, a concerned look on his face, and brushed his fingers gently along Magnus’ jaw, tilting his head to the side to examine something on his cheek.

For some reason, Magnus didn't protest. It might have been because he was glad for something physical to anchor him, to make the room stop spinning for a moment, to distract him from the emptiness under his skin where his friends' magic used to linger, because otherwise he was pretty sure he would collapse. Or it might have been because at that moment, he was seeing yet another part of Alec Lightwood that he hadn't known existed and couldn't help but like. It was hard to think of him as a mere soldier or a Shadowhunter when he was standing this close, with so much _caring_ written across his face. His hazel eyes were soft and his touch was featherlight on Magnus’ face, and the shift from the ruthless killer of a few seconds ago to this protective figure was seamless and terrifying and so, _so_ enticing.

“You’re hurt,” Alec said, almost in a whisper.

His own voice seemed to startle him back on his guard _—_ he dropped his hand and stepped back with enough speed to nearly stumble, and awkwardly cleared his throat. “You should…clean that cut. I’m gonna _—_ I gotta _—_ ” He didn’t even finish his sentence. He just raced to the door.

“Alexander,” Magnus called. He heard Alec stop and turned to look at him, but Alec kept firmly still, his back to Magnus. “There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Alec took in a sharp breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped, and walked out of the loft.

*

The fighting had finally started to settle down. On his way back to Clary and Simon, Luke ran into Isabelle Lightwood again.

“I swear to god, you are _everywhere_ ,” he muttered unkindly. She seemed unfazed.

“The perimeter is secure,” she said. “My brothers are gathering up what's left of the Circle inside the loft. Are there any other survivors?”

“Probably,” he said. “And it's probably best that you and I don't know any specifics about that." He stopped at the remains of the door of Magnus’ study. There were new bodies here, ones that hadn’t been there before.

“What happened here?” Isabelle asked, still in that serious but professionally detached tone.

Luke didn’t answer this time. He stepped over the dead and into the room, the knives he’d managed to secure for himself from opponents feeling suddenly heavy in his hands. “Clary? Simon?” His voice came out frantic and terrified. It was nothing compared to how he felt.

Clary poked her head out from under the desk. At the sight of him, relief flooded her face the same way it did his heart and she stumbled to her feet and into his arms within seconds. There was more blood on her and the sword he’d left her with than he remembered. Simon came out next, followed by a little girl clutching his hand like her life depended on it. Isabelle sheathed her own sword and carefully approached the little girl to greet her. Simon held on tighter to the girl, eyeing Isabelle suspiciously.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked the kids.

Clary nodded, looking up at him. “You?”

“Fine. What happened here?

“Clary’s a fucking superhero,” Simon said, and Luke had trouble reading his tone. “That’s what happened.”

Isabelle stepped up to Clary. "I'm guessing that's you?" She offered her free hand. "I'm Izzy."

Clary, having just pulled out of Luke’s embrace, stared at her for a long moment. If she was processing her impractical footwear or the blood on her moving snake bracelet or what the hell she was doing here and where she had come from, Luke couldn’t tell. After a moment, Clary took the offered hand with her own left and gave it an awkward shake.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been to track you down?” Isabelle laughed a little, like they were good friends and this was all just a very funny story for them to tell their children in the future. “It’s nice to properly meet you, Clary. We have a lot to talk about.”

Clary recoiled then. “I know you,” she said. “You were at Pandemonium.”

“Yes, and so were you.” Isabelle’s eyes drifted to the sword in Clary’s hand. “Still got it, I see.”

Before Clary could reply, Dot’s voice was calling them all to the living room.

She was slumped on a couch, looking more tired than Luke had ever seen her, pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes shut tightly. Beside her, Catarina Loss was nursing a beer with her head on Dot's shoulder. At the very least, they appeared unharmed.

Catarina leapt to her feet when she saw the warlock girl with them. She walked over, ignoring everyone but her, and asked her if she was hurt and assured her that she was safe now. She hugged the girl while Dot assured the rest of them that the Circle had been taken care of and the threat was gone for the time being. Luke saw Clary take Simon’s hand without even looking at him, almost subconsciously. Isabelle seemed to notice it, too.

Magnus walked in a moment later. He said very little. He just walked up to Catarina and briefly touched her shoulder. “Survivors?” he asked.

“My place,” she replied. “Mostly kids.”

He nodded. “Barcelona?”

“Are you coming?”

“I can’t.”

“I’m staying with you.”

“No. They need you.”

She was quiet for a moment. "Fine,” she said at last, and turned to Dot. “You’re coming, right?”

Dot nodded and within a minute Magnus had portalled the three warlocks elsewhere. Isabelle worried at her bottom lip as she looked at him.

“We can make funeral arrangements _—_ ” she started.

Magnus held up a hand to silence her. “I’ve got it.”

“But _—_ ”

“No, _thank you_ , Isabelle!” Magnus snapped.

Luke couldn’t blame him _—_ and it looked like Isabelle couldn't, either. Not when they were all standing in his friends’ blood.

Magnus took a deep breath and steadied himself. "Now, then," he said, clapping his hands together, once again the picture of calm and nonchalance. Though there was much more tension in his jaw, something behind wilder in his eyes now. "I have a lot of work to do here." His eyes danced over them all, but caught Luke's gaze straight on. "And so do _you_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter-specific warnings:  
> -quite a lot of blood and violence. think: the exact opposite of season 1's vibe... lots of people get thrown around, stabbed, and killed and there is attempted child murder  
> -brief but heavily-implied internalized homophobia  
> -drinking/alcohol


End file.
